Meaningless Conversation
by certifiably
Summary: Steve discovers something about his teammate he was not sure he ever wanted to know. Now that he does, he's got to deal with it.
1. Chapter 1

I admit, I'm a little nervous about this one. I typically feel better about the fluff I write, but I have a terrible leaning for darker tales. Thus, this came into being. I'm aware it's been done before, but everyone knows it's impossible not to want to attack it at a different angle. Right? Right.

Warnings: Language, bullying, mentions of physical and sexual assault. Absolutely nothing graphic.

SPOILER FOR THE MOVIE:

A certain character is still alive, and I will continue to believe he is alive. No one will convince me otherwise.

END SPOILER

Summary: Steve discovers something about his teammate he was not sure he never wanted to know. Now that he does, he's got to deal with it.

* * *

_Meaningless Conversation_

_or the time it really wasn't_

Chapter 1 of 3

There were many things about the 21st century that were different than the 1940's. Too many to count, really. Technology alone was enough to boggle the mind. Women were a common sight in the military. If anyone said anything bad about homosexuality, someone else would immediately rise up and rake that poor sap over the coals. Steve even had a telephone the size of his palm in his jacket pocket.

Some things, however, remained constant. Hobnobbing with politicians, for example, was still the primary method of gaining public funding.

"Why do we have to do this again?" Steve was not entirely comfortable in the tuxedo he wore. He was used to his battle armor, his military uniform, or jeans and a button-down shirt. Formalwear should be reserved for weddings and nights out at the opera. He thought his uniform would be more appropriate for dinner with a bunch of people in Washington, DC, but he had been overruled. "I thought Tony made all our stuff."

"If I didn't charge for my services, I would go bankrupt in a year with the way SHIELD spends money."

Tony looked perfectly at home in his tux. Freshly shaven, hair sleek, sunglasses despite the late hour—he might as well have stepped out of a fashion magazine. Steve should have known he would look good. It had been Tony who forced him to the tailor's a few days ago.

_"Fury commissioned me to make you look good,"_ had been the explanation at the time.

He held his tongue, but Steve would never be able to say he enjoyed _schmoozing_ (Tony's term) with the brass. He was a soldier, through and through. War strategy and battle plans were all he was ever good at, and suddenly he was being thrust back into the circus of the public perception game. A small part of him resented it.

Another small part (he would not acknowledge) was glad he was not the only one to suffer through this event. Natasha Romanov looked, well, she looked like she did not care much one way or the other. Coulson was also along for the ride, but he always looked a bit out of place. Obviously he had not consulted with Tony on his wardrobe. That ill-fitting suit just made him seem that much more uncomfortable.

Their limousine (provided by Tony), pulled up to the curb outside a fancy looking hotel. It was also a convention center, with a ballroom where the dinner would take place. Coulson was out and waiting patiently by the car while Natasha slid out, her movements apparently not at all hampered by her form-fitting, slinky black dress. Steve clambered out next, much less gracefully, and reached back to help Miss Potts out. He received a gracious smile for his efforts and a raised eyebrow from Tony, who stood to her other side a moment later.

Tony and Pepper had apparently dated at one point, but Steve really could not tell. They behaved more like a well-oiled machine than a couple, or even an ex-couple. Tony was the core, and Pepper moved around him, knowing exactly what her boss would be doing and how to act, react, or counteract in the best way possible. She was an amazing woman, really, and Steve was fairly certain Tony was the reason they were no longer dating.

Tony was so abrasive, it was impossible for anyone to get truly close to him. Well, Steve was trying to forge a friendship, but there were definitely days where he fantasized about punching the man in the nose.

The soiree was just as Steve remembered them being. The fashion was a little different, and there were more women—many more women who were not simply the wives of the politicians—but overall, everything was the same.

Right down to people fawning over him. That was why he was attending the dinner. According to Fury, Captain America was one of the most recognizable and beloved heroes of their time. Children knew who he was, despite the fact that he had supposedly died seventy years ago. He was an honest-to-goodness legend, and people would fall over themselves to see him, let alone meet him.

For the most part, it was exactly as Fury said. The one part he had not mentioned was that Tony was just as popular in his own way. The instant they walked into the room, people flocked to them. Steve was immediately surrounded, but he noticed he was not the only one. Tony had cameras in his face and was smiling away, laughing and shaking hands, and Steve envied his natural presence in front of the press. He had never felt more awkward than when people were demanding him to act friendly for newspapers.

While the envy did not abate, Steve quickly lost track of Tony in the crowd. Natasha had disappeared with Coulson before they even got in, and even Pepper had disappeared. Steve forced a smile to his face and tried to answer the curious question slung at him without feeling too annoyed.

Because really, what kind of person asked such personal questions as _how does it feel knowing almost everyone you had known is now gone?_ People in the twenty-first century press were assholes.

Fortunately, there were many other questions to answer, and Steve was able to pretend he had not heard everything in the wash of voices. The downfall was that he had come to this party already nervous. Now he was on edge, his heart pounding unhappily in his chest, his eyes moving a little too quickly through the crowd to be completely polite. He wanted out so very badly.

Someone must have noticed. At the very least, one of the team noticed because the cameras came up and started flashing madly, and Steve realized Tony was at his elbow. The man was about as stealthy as a brick through a window in his Iron Man suit, but in this crowd of wealthy investors, entitled politicians and press cameras, he was a ninja. Once again Steve had to reevaluate his initial thoughts on Tony. He was a genius playboy billionaire philanthropist _ninja_. At least, he was in this crowd.

"Give the man some room to breathe, folks," Tony said with his billion-watt smile. Quieter, Steve heard, "Smile, Cap. Cameras are watching." Even as Steve managed to pull forth what was certain to be a constipated grimace, Tony was guiding him through the crowd with a light touch to his arm. "Formal interviews can be scheduled through Stark Industries—for further information, speak with Miss Potts. I believe you all know who I'm talking about."

The press was still the press, and they were not easily deterred. They kept calling out questions, despite the fact that their potential interviewees were leaving them behind. Some of them were for Steve, some for Tony. None of them made Steve reconsider his belief that they were a bunch of piranhas trying to latch onto a scandal. Especially when someone called out something rude about the recent breakup between Tony and Pepper.

"Are they always so horrible?" Steve asked anxiously. This night was bad for his health. He would rather take on a bunch of well-armed Nazis than this room of supposedly harmless people.

"It's the press," Tony replied, his mouth hardly moving from its toothy smile. "It's their job to find every angle—good and bad."

"I don't like it."

"No one likes it. Here's our table."

Steve sat with a grateful sigh. Natasha and Coulson had already found their seats. They were the less recognized side of SHIELD. As Steve understood it, they were mostly present to make sure the event went smoothly.

"Do you want a drink?" Tony asked. Without pausing to wait for an answer, he plowed forward, "I'm going to get a drink. Natasha? Phil? Cap? No?"

"Tony." Natasha was frowning, which was never a good sign. Steve recalled that Coulson was there for the politicians. Natasha and Pepper were along to keep Tony in line. It was kind of strange that there was only one man for all the other people while Tony required _two_ caretakers.

Tony was gone an instant later, and Steve felt the loss. Like he had lost his shield. With Tony near him, he felt less exposed in this crowd of curious people. Tony was larger than life. People looked at him whenever he was in the room, no matter who was with him. Even Captain America came second to Tony Stark's shining aura.

"How does he do it?" Steve wondered. There was water in front of him, and he poured himself a glass.

"Tony was born in front of a camera," Natasha said. She sounded disgusted. "Almost literally."

"Howard was pretty well-known," Steve recalled. And, if he recalled, Howard was similar in that he had been a bit of a showman. He had not been quite to Tony's level of super-confidence, had not drawn the attention to himself simply by existing, but he had definitely known how to handle a crowd.

"Mr. Stark knew how to handle the press," Coulson said. He sounded almost envious. Steve could hardly blame him. It was hard not to be jealous of someone who could manage such an impossible task. "He made sure his kid knew how to do it too. Even when he's eyebrows deep in scandal, people are fascinated by Tony Stark."

Although they had been nearly overrun by the press earlier, this dinner was presented by and for the politicians and the investors. Both were of a subtler class than the press. While they came and chatted, they did not swarm.

Pepper returned while Steve was politely listening to a House Representative talk about the stories his father had told him about the war. It was one he had heard before and would likely hear again. And again and again. _My dad served in the _blank_ regiment. He was friends with _a person_ who saw you in action_ in this place. It was like listening to a recording with the numbers names and places changing up occasionally.

Natasha and Pepper talked quietly while Steve suffered through another reminder of the time he lost. This was not the time to get lost in bitterness. These people needed to like him, and he did not have Tony's talent for being able to run his mouth without making people irreconcilably despise him.

He kind of wished Thor had come. Between Thor and Tony, no one would think to look at Steve. But Thor was loud and frequently bad for flatware, and Fury had been doubtful of the God of Thunder's tolerance for the press.

Finally, things seemed to settle down. Dinner would be served soon, which meant everyone was required to find their table. The remaining three spots at their table were not to be empty, which was just unfortunate. Steve would have liked some downtime to just sit and eat his meal.

"Captain Rogers."

The use of his name rather than the title _Captain America_ surprised him. He looked up, Tony's reminder to smile in his mind as he greeted the man who had spoken. The guy was big, about Steve's height, though the years had changed much of the muscle to flab. His gray hair was neatly styled, his suit impeccably tailored. Everything about the man screamed control. Kind of like Tony, actually.

"Senator Ronald Allen. I look forward to sitting with you and your companions tonight."

The woman on Allen's arm was attractive for a woman in her sixties. The dress looked expensive, her hair was probably dyed that golden shade, and she smiled mistily at him. It was because of her that Steve stood, shaking Allen's hand. After all, it was always proper to stand when a woman approached the table. (Coulson obviously did not think so. He just smiled his plastic smile and drank his water and waited for their dinner to be brought to them.)

"Senator," Steve said, then offered his hand to the woman. She took it, her smile never wavering.

"Barbara Allen," she offered. "It's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise," Steve replied.

It was probably the declaration that dinner was due to be served that brought Tony back. The man had a drink in his hand—bourbon on ice from the looks of it—and he grinned like a shark.

"Senator Allen," Tony declared, and there was something strange in his voice, something a little too sharp, a little too cold. Steve did not know Tony that well yet, but that tone was universal. Tony was smiling, but he was not happy. "I saw your name on the place setting. Who did you bribe to get put at our table?"

"Ever the charmer, Tony." Neither Tony nor Allen offered their hand to the other. Tony did not even offer to take the lady's hand, which was kind of unusual for the engineer. Young or old, Tony was never picky when it came to charming pretty women. "It's good to see you so well."

There was obviously some history here. Steve glanced at Pepper, but she was preoccupied with whatever she was discussing with Natasha. Coulson was the third wheel, sitting stiff and awkward and not at all paying attention to the conversations around him.

Possibly sensing his curiosity, Mrs. Allen leaned in, still smiling her vague smile, and said, "Tony and our son were friends back in high school. Tony got Roland through his algebra classes."

"Really," Steve smiled pleasantly. He liked learning things about his teammates. His life was an open book for anyone who cared to do a little research. Tony's life was similar, he supposed, being as he was raised in the public eye. But Steve was still uncertain about this era's technology, and no one was forthcoming. His last attempted conversation with Natasha had been a little one-sided, and she had walked away from him, leaving him feeling as if he knew less than he had before they started talking. He knew the contents of their SHIELD files, but that only covered their abilities in the field and basic projections of cooperative efforts. He knew a few things, though. "I was under the impression that Tony was homeschooled."

"Oh, Tony was in college already," Barbara said. "But Howard thought it would be good for him to keep friends his own age."

"Uh, yeah," Tony cut in abruptly. "Sixteen year olds are not allowed to associate with twenty-year-olds outside of class, apparently. And you say I got him through algebra. Actually, I just did—"

"Tony! Buddy!"

"_Jesus_." Liquor sloshed down the sides of Tony's glass and over his hand in response to the solid hand clapping against his shoulder from behind. Steve had seen the man approaching, but he only just now realized the family resemblance. Big—almost as big as Thor, really—and solid, the guy looked like a taller, less gray version of Senator Allen. There was some salt and pepper running through his hair, but he was still quite fit for a man in his forties. He looked like a football player. "_Roland_. God, _don't_—"

"When was the last time we saw each other?"

"Not nearly long—"

"Here comes dinner!" Roland's hand tightened on Tony's shoulder, and Steve again felt the loss when the man was pulled away to sit across the table from him. He had Coulson on his right, the senator, his wife and son on his left. Which meant his entire dinner conversation would be taken up by the politician, since Coulson was about as chatty as rock outside of business.

Roland and Tony were amusing to watch at least. It was obvious that Tony had been suddenly wrenched out of his comfort zone. His smile grew more ragged around the edges as Roland bullied him to his chair, and Steve wondered if that would work for him too. Tony never listened to anyone. Maybe he just needed to be manhandled a bit to get him to cooperate.

As anticipated, dinner was a trying affair. Steve took three times longer to eat than usual while spending the rest of his time recounting tales of his missions in Europe. He had rather hoped he would be allowed to sit next to Tony. That man loved to talk. He was talking now, with Pepper, leaning a little too far into her space to be completely proprietary for a couple that was no longer dating. Pepper looked used to it, though, if her longsuffering expression was any indication.

Natasha and Coulson were apparently content to ignore any and all conversations, which was no help at all. Steve kept glancing across the table, hoping Tony would burst in with his usual brash behavior and take over the conversation. Maybe bring it to something less… Captain America oriented. No such luck. He was preoccupied with Pepper and Roland.

It actually took until their dessert was served for Steve to realize how very bad the situation at the table had become. Coulson must have already noticed because his absently pleasant demeanor had changed. The half-smile he usually sported was missing, and Steve could _feel_ the aggression in his posture. Natasha might have noticed as well, but she was harder to read.

Pepper, bless her heart, was looking anxious but not focused. She knew something was wrong, but she had no idea what it was. Most likely, she was just reacting to whatever tone was in her boss's voice, and from the deteriorating smile on Tony's face, it could not be good.

What Steve finally noticed was that Tony did not just dislike Allen and his family. Tony's distaste seemed to focus in on the man directly beside him.

It was in the eyes. Tony could smile all he wanted, but Steve could see the dark malice slithering behind the man's eyes whenever Roland spoke with him. From the looks of things, Tony would love to see Roland with his throat ripped out. Steve had seen hatred before, and that right there—that was it.

Another several minutes of fielding questions from the senator and Steve was starting to pinpoint other details in Tony's body language to back up that hazy expression. Tony was definitely leaning away. His elbow was on the table, and he leaned back whenever he had to face Roland. There was also a recoil, a small flinch whenever Roland touched his arm, his shoulder, his hand, or even made a gesture to do so.

Come to think of it, Roland was touching Tony an awful lot. It was possible the man was just a physical kind of guy. One thing Steve knew about Tony—about many of the people in SHIELD, actually—was that he rarely initiated familiar contact with anyone. Obviously someone who did would make him uncomfortable.

But Roland wasn't touching anyone else. Of anyone that he should be comfortable casually touching, his mother was right there, and he never once looked at her, even when she joined the conversation.

There was pressure building, all around the table. Even the senator had noticed. Steve knew he noticed. The man kept trying to distract him with comments and questions.

Steve focused on Roland. He decided his initial impression of the man was not far off. Despite pushing into middle age, he was a jock. The decades had not changed the core of the _type_. The jocks were overconfident and uncaring of those they viewed as beneath their class. They were at a certain social level, and they expected to be treated as such, no matter how they behaved. In short, they were bullies.

It was quiet, subtle even, but there was no mistaking it. Roland was bullying Tony right now. Just as Steve could see the distress and anger building in Tony's eyes, he could also read the haughty pleasure in Roland. The man knew he was making Tony uncomfortable and reveled in it. These two were not old friends. Roland was making a power play, and Tony, with all his arrogance, was the weak one.

This was unacceptable. How dare this man come to a place where they were supposed to be having a pleasant evening and launch a psychological attack on one of the Avengers team members? Steve had never liked bullies, and he never would. And he would not have it here and now.

Coulson stood.

Steve looked up, startled by the agent's sudden movement. He had known Coulson was unsettled, but he had not expected the man to act on it. Of course, maybe he just needed to use the restroom.

But no, he stopped between Tony and Pepper, and when he leaned down, it was Tony whose ear he spoke into. Tony blinked, equally bewildered by the interruption, and looked across the table. Steve frowned when suspicious brown eyes met his, but then Tony was standing, and Coulson was smiling at Roland, who just looked confused. Another round of low murmuring had Roland rising and following Coulson across the room to the bar.

Tony claimed Coulson's chair and fixed Steve with a challenging look.

"Phil said you had something you wanted to ask me," he announced.

Oh, Coulson was good. Really good. Steve glanced over at the bar, but Coulson and Roland had their backs to the table. Tony looked as well, and he snorted.

"If he recruits Roland, I am quitting," he announced. "You know what? I should go. I'm going to go. Pepper, call Happy."

"Tony?" Pepper was immediately alarmed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. He's not going anywhere," Natasha said coolly. Tony shot her an offended look, which she ignored in favor of the one Senator Allen was sending her way. "Senator Allen, do we have a problem?"

"What's going on?" Barbara asked, finally breaking free of her hazy demeanor to look upset. "Tony? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Hmm? Nothing! Of course nothing's wrong," Tony flashed the briefest of smiles. "I'm just an innocent bystander here. Honest."

Steve was not quite sure what to do when Allen suddenly leaned across the table to glare at Tony. For the first time since they sat down, Steve was not the center of Allen's attention, and normally that would be a good thing, but now Allen just looked pissed.

"For once, Tony, can't you just act like an adult?" the senator whispered harshly.

Tony looked genuinely offended. Steve actually had not thought that possible. Tony was one of those people who took punches and smiled like he felt nothing. There was some history here, and it was rapidly bringing down the night.

"Me?" Tony snorted. "I haven't done anything. Besides, you're the genius who brought Roland along. He hasn't changed a bit, you know. Still the stupid jock."

"Don't you dare—"

"Don't defend him," Tony said right over him. "Don't challenge me, Allen. My public image is much less fragile than yours."

Allen paled and sat back. Barbara was at his arm, tugging and looking to both him and Tony for explanation.

"Tony, you need to stop. Right now," Pepper was visibly upset. Tony grimaced and drank the remaining water from Coulson's glass. The water was obviously not what he wanted, but Steve suspected he just needed to have an excuse for movement and the ability _not_ to speak. Natasha leaned over and murmured in Pepper's ear, silencing any further inquiries for the time being.

Steve, on the other hand, was right beside Tony. He could see Tony's hands shaking, the paleness of his face. Under all that angry bravado, Tony was trying not to collapse beneath some stress Steve couldn't see.

"You okay?" he asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. That was a no. A server set a glass of amber-colored liquid on the table in front of the billionaire, which was quickly drained. Tony coughed and indicated that the server should bring another.

"Tony," Steve rebuked gently.

"Fine, Cap," Tony bared his teeth in a vicious grin. It was aimed at the senator. "I'm good. Fantastic. SHIELD has pretty comprehensive files, you know. They know things about you, about me. Probably about Natasha. Interestingly, there are plenty of things in my file and Rogers' that would ruin many people's careers."

"You shouldn't know that," Natasha murmured.

"Oh, like you can keep me out of your files," Tony mocked. "Still glad you paid the big bucks to sit with us, Senator?"

"You're a dick, Tony."

"Noted," Tony was in full control now, on the attack. Steve had seen him in action as Iron Man, but this was different. This was truly Tony's element. The second drink came, and he drank it much more leisurely. "At least I'm not a sadist."

Allen spluttered. It was Natasha who rescued him, if rescue was the proper term.

"Your son is unwell, Senator," she said mildly. "You should tend to your family. There is an ambulance outside waiting."

"What?" Barbara was instantly on her feet, looking for her son. "Roland?"

"He'll be fine," Natasha assured them. "Senator."

The look sent their way was not friendly. Regardless, Senator Allen bundled up his wife and hustled her out the door. Coulson rematerialized beside the table and sat where Tony had been several minutes earlier.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Agent Coulson?" Pepper looked between everyone anxiously. "Tony? What's going on?"

Tony chuckled, for all the world completely amused by the situation. But his hand was shaking. Steve took the drink and set it on the table. So far they had avoided a scene, but there was still plenty of opportunity.

"I think that's enough," he murmured.

"You know, I should go too," Tony glanced at Natasha and Coulson. "An old friend of mine just collapsed, you see."

"Your old friend would want you to visit him during visitor's hours," Coulson said with that mild smile that was translated, _sit your ass down and shut up, or I will have the Black Widow physically restrain and humiliate you in front of this crowd._ Steve was getting pretty good at translating Coulson's odd mannerisms.

"Oh, fuck you, Phil."

"Tony! What is your problem?" Pepper had the sense to keep her voice down. Tony was being crude, but so far he had not spoken loud enough to be heard beyond the circle of their table. Steve was actually very impressed at the composure of everyone around him. He was not entirely certain what had passed, but he did know Tony had faced down monsters without batting an eye. That his hands were shaking now was truly a sign of his distress.

Which brought the question to front: _what had Roland Allen done to Tony Stark?_ It must have been pretty gruesome to cause this kind of response.

"I hope my file reads like a goddamn porno," Tony said viciously. Steve startled. Where was this coming from? The anger had been focused before, but now it seemed to be lashing outward at anyone who dared talk to him. "Did it make you uncomfortable, Agent Coulson?"

"SHIELD files aren't as comprehensive as you think," Coulson said. Tony snorted and reached for his drink again, glaring when Steve picked it up first and set it out of his reach. "Relax, Mr. Stark. This was simply the most expedient way to diffuse the situation."

"The _situation_," Tony said, all wide-eyed innocence and mockery. "There wasn't any situation, Phil. Believe it or not, I can make it through an evening without causing a scene."

"I wasn't worried about you causing a scene," Coulson said, and his gaze shifted. Steve felt himself flush when the man's eyes met his. "I was worried Rogers would."

"Oh, um…" There was nothing to say to that. Coulson was right, he supposed. He had been a beat away from demanding Roland back the hell off of Tony. But then Coulson had separated them quickly and _quietly_, and he had not needed to do anything more than sit back and admire how efficient the SHIELD agent was.

"Goddamn it," Tony groaned. "Cap, if you don't give me my drink now, I really will leave."

* * *

Do I have a thing for torturing Tony? Why yes. Yes, I do.


	2. Chapter 2

_Meaningless Conversation_

Chapter 2 of 3

They made it through the evening by the skin of their teeth. Steve suspected it was Natasha's doing. She and Tony had disappeared to the restrooms at the same time, and when Tony came back he took his seat next to Pepper and somehow managed to ignore everyone without appearing to do so for the rest of the evening.

That is to say, he rose and mingled with the other honored guests, gave his speech when it was his turn, and completely avoided interacting with everyone save Pepper until it was time to leave. Even that was minimal and looked unpleasant for Pepper.

It was not for lack of trying. Well, Steve tried. Natasha hovered near Pepper most of the evening on the pretense of being her personal assistant. Coulson disappeared. Steve was sure the man had left the ballroom, since he could not blend into this crowd. Coulson looked like a fed no matter how he dressed or who he spoke with. No matter the tux, he would stick out like a sore thumb in a crowd like this. Which meant he had gone somewhere, probably damage control.

Steve made several attempts to talk to Tony. Fury had told Steve—warned him, really—early on that Tony had issues with people. Back when they thought maybe Steve had a snowball's chance in hell of controlling the man behind Iron Man.

_"Watch out for the times when he gets to chatting about nothing. He'll do whatever it takes to avoid the heart of the matter. And whatever you do, don't let him start talking,"_ Fury had said. _"If you let him get going, he'll march right over you and be gone before you get a word in edgewise."_

Steve remembered the advice, not that it had ever done him any good. He had always been a reserved kind of person. He was the super soldier, but Tony could _talk_. No less than three times did he attempt to approach the billionaire, and three times he was given a close up demonstration of why Tony was such a successful businessman.

"Tony," he would say. Once he got as far as, "Can I—" before Tony had his arm and was pulling him into the group, cheerfully introducing him.

"Congressman Isaacson, I'd like you to meet my good friend Steve Rogers."

"Ladies, I _know_ you all know Captain Rogers."

"The floor recognizes Captain America," was the latest that had left Steve adrift in a crowd of wealthy businessmen with their pretty younger wives. They were immediately entranced, of course. As if he had anything interesting to say when his mind was abuzz with worry for his teammate. Steve hesitated to think friend. He felt he was a friend to Tony, but he was not sure Tony returned the sentiments. The man was impossible to get a true read on. Maybe he just needed to find that file Tony was talking about and read it.

Not until Coulson returned and said it was time to leave was Steve able to create an opportunity to speak with Tony.

It was Tony's intention to separate himself from the group that was his ultimate downfall. Steve was not sure when Tony managed it, but there was another car waiting for him when they left. It was a tiny thing, barely looked like it would hold a person, and the license plate read STARK27.

Steve did not bother listening to whatever Tony was hollering over Coulson and Pepper's protests. He rounded the car, recognizing the little chirp as a sign that the doors were unlocked, and climbed into the passenger side. Tony had been so busy running from the people climbing into the limo behind his car that he did not notice until he shut his own door.

"Jesus _Christ!_" Tony jerked back against his door, automatically scrabbling as if to try to escape the car. He caught himself and stilled, planting his hands on the steering wheel and fixing Steve with a stern frown. "I don't have time for this, Rogers."

"Make time," Steve retorted. "I just want to talk."

"You can talk to Agent Romanov. She likes you, and she's a lot more attractive."

"I don't want to talk to Natasha. I want to talk to you," Steve glanced out the window. The limousine glided into the traffic past them. "There goes the other car." He raised his eyebrows at Tony. "You wouldn't leave me here without a ride, would you?"

Tony gaped at him, clearly not having expected Steve to be so devious. He wasn't really. He was just very determined, and Tony had cornered himself in a car where Steve could get at him one-on-one, which was much more comfortable for the former WWII soldier. Tony was a performer. Intimacy of any sort seemed to just make him uncomfortable. Even this small level of it.

"Boy from Brooklyn doesn't know how to hail a taxi?" Tony mocked.

"Is it so hard to talk?" Steve asked.

"You know what? You can drive yourself home." Tony tossed the keys into Steve's lap and reached for the door. "I'll call a cab."

Steve caught Tony's wrist, effectively halting the man's escape. His hands had never been small, and they were large enough to completely wrap around the narrow-boned wrist, and he recalled again his initial protest of Tony being on the Avengers team. In the Iron Man suit he was unbelievable. Without the armor, Tony Stark was actually very frail. He had no real physical training. Steve was certain Coulson could take him down without much trouble. Even Banner was an effective fighter without the aid of the Hulk.

Tony froze, gaze honing in on Steve's hand on his arm. He did not try to pull away, which Steve thought was odd, but maybe Tony just realized how ineffectual any struggling would be. In a test of strength, there was no contest. Steve had all the cards.

"Will you just talk to me?" Steve asked gently. Brown eyes lifted, icy cold with a fury Steve could not recall seeing before from this man.

"Why?" Tony asked, voice silky soft. He was cautioning Steve to back off, but Steve had never been good at listening to warnings. "You planning on doing something, or did you just want to hold my hand?"

Steve wondered if he should listen to the warning bells that jangled away inside his head.

"I want you not to run away."

"So you thought it was a good idea to grab me." Tony made a fist, testing the grip, and relaxed when Steve did not let go. He thought maybe he should, but then Tony would just bolt, and Steve was pretty sure it was undignified to tackle the billionaire to the pavement when it was about time for the other guests of the dinner party to leave. They had left the event in good standing after all.

"It's doing the job," Steve said finally.

"Yeah." The expression behind Tony's eyes was changing, flashing so quickly between emotions that Steve could not get a read on him. The rest of the man's face was utterly still, and now even the eyes were defeating Steve. "It always does."

Steve frowned. That was not the kind of reply he had expected.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked flatly.

"What do you think?" Tony yanked hard suddenly, grunting when Steve's hand barely moved. "Let go."

"Or else what?" Steve challenged.

"Just _let go_."

"I just want to talk."

"We can _talk_." Tony grabbed at Steve's hand with his free one, actually prying at the fingers. Steve identified the emotion this time, and that was _fear_ in Tony's eyes. "_Just get the fuck off of me!_"

Steve released his wrist, startled by the way Tony's voice cracked and how the man fell back against the door in his attempt to pull as far from Steve as he could within the confines of the small vehicle.

"God_damn_ it!" Tony struck the wheel hard enough to hurt. Steve really hoped the man didn't sprain anything in the process. "Are you completely dense? I expect this from Pepper, but… Jesus, Rogers!"

"I'm sorry," Steve wished he knew what Tony was talking about. The man was obviously in pain, and it was not because of his wrist, but that was all Steve could see. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"You were watching me all fucking night!" Tony snarled. Steve was struck by how vulgar Tony got when he was truly angry. "You all were! So what hare-brained idea planted itself in your psyche that made it seem like I would want _anyone_ touching me after I had that _asshole_ pawing at me all through dinner?"

Steve's jaw dropped, and yes, it suddenly clicked into place. He had not made the connection because, well, Roland was a man and Tony was a man. If Tony had been a woman, he would have been all over that situation long before they got to dessert. He would have seen the harassment for what it was. He would have _known_. But he was still unaccustomed to this behavior that was now considered normal when once it might have gotten a man shot in the street.

Actually, right now Steve felt that it might be appropriate for Roland to be shot. Not killed, of course, but maybe maimed. A bullet to that beefy part of his leg where it would hurt like a bitch but not cause too much permanent damage.

Steve realized Tony was actually still talking—ranting, really—and he immediately felt guilty. He really should have known. Then perhaps he would not have frightened Tony so badly. But he had. He was sure of it. This was Tony, talking off the remnants of honest terror.

"…no, you're Captain fucking America! Protector of the weak, defender of the goddamn American way! As you've already pointed out, I don't have super soldier serum backing me up!" Tony continued. "Why the hell do you think I built the suit?"

Steve did not know everything, but he knew Iron Man had stemmed from an incident overseas. Tony had built a suit of armor and destroyed the enemy base around him singlehandedly. The story had been so impressive (because really, what kind of man could take out a hundred gun-wielding men alone?) that Steve had failed to think about what drove Tony to do it in the first place.

"Tony," he murmured.

"Supposedly you know what it's like _not_ to be the biggest guy in the room." Once on a roll, Tony really was difficult to shut up. "I mean, I know it was seventy years ago, but to be fair you spent most of those years in suspended animation, so it shouldn't be much more than a few years, right? You remember that. And _Thor_. Standing around that guy will give anyone a complex."

"Tony, _stop_." Steve was not a touchy-feely kind of guy, but in this instance he was willing to make an exception. Their location made it difficult. The car was small with bucket seats, the gear shift between them, but Steve did not care. He grabbed Tony's jacket and dragged the man forward, consciously making the effort to hug—_not_ crush—the smaller man to his chest.

"Holy shit." Tony struggled out of surprise, then went rigid, his breath harsh in Steve's ear. Steve wasn't trying to scare him, so he relaxed his grip, pushing Tony back to hold him at arm's length. Tony looked at him like he was two parts crazy, one part insane, and another part potentially very dangerous, but at least he kept his mouth shut.

"Tony, I'm sorry," Steve said. "If I had realized what was going on, I never would have allowed it to continue."

Tony stared at him a good while longer before pinching his lips and nodding sharply.

"Great," he declared. "That's great. Really big of you. It's none of your business, Cap."

"You're my friend, Tony," Steve said firmly, and _there_. He had said it. He made it known, and he hoped to God Tony would accept it. "I'm making it my business. You shouldn't have to deal with these things alone."

Obviously Tony was not accustomed to people helping him. Fury had said the man was dangerously independent, unwilling to rely on anyone aside from himself. There was probably a reason for it.

Steve finally released Tony when the man eased away and reached for the steering wheel. He seemed to recall what he had done with the keys a moment later and sighed, falling back against the headrest.

"What do you want from me?" Tony muttered.

"Tell me what he did," Steve replied. He met Tony's incredulous stare with steady confidence. This had to be done. Tony _needed_ it. "You'll feel better if someone else knows."

"Is that a line they fed you in boot camp?" Tony apparently could not give up the sarcasm, no matter the situation.

"I never made it all the way through boot camp," Steve admitted. He lifted his hand, then stopped, let it fall. Tony didn't want anyone touching him, so he would honor that wish now. "I just know people. I know you."

Tony looked at him, steady and calm. Steve was not sure if that was good or bad.

"Give me the keys."

* * *

TBC...

It occurs to me that this may not have been clear, but they are currently in Washington, DC.


	3. Chapter 3

Here we have the final conversation. I tried to keep it as in character as possible. Hopefully I succeeded at least a little, and hopefully you all enjoy it.

Chapter warnings: same as the first. Also, at a point I guessed a bit at Steve's height pre-serum. I have no idea what it actually was, but I'm saying about 5-4 or 5-5. Short.

* * *

_Meaningless Conversation_

Chapter 3 of 3

If Steve thought Tony was driving a little too fast (okay, way too fast), he held his tongue. There was no talking while the car wove through the city traffic. Once they hit the city limits and got on the open highway, Tony gunned the engine, and they were flying. Steve had to remind himself to breathe, that Tony was neither suicidal nor aiming to kill Captain America in a fiery car crash. He still jumped when a cell phone landed in his lap.

"Tell them they can take off," Tony said. "We're driving to New York."

Steve fiddled with the phone, which was far more advanced than the one they had given him. He considered pulling out his own phone, then recalled that he had not actually brought it along to the benefit, choosing instead to leave it in the car. The other car.

Finally Tony pulled over and took the cell from him. He never actually spoke, so Steve figured he texted the message to Pepper. The phone disappeared, and the car was moving so fast Steve thought they would launch into the air. If it had wings, they probably would, and with Tony's engineering prowess, he might just be able to make it happen.

They drove about seventy miles in silence. It was something of a miracle that they didn't get pulled over since they did that distance in about forty-five minutes. It was late, and Steve would have worried about the hour, but he did not need much sleep and he had it on good authority that Tony was an insomniac. The glow of the dash on Tony's face showed he was not going to drift off anytime soon. His eyes were focused, sleep far from his thoughts.

Although Steve had been worried that he would have to force the issue, ultimately, it was Tony who broke the silence. Steve had not known what to expect, but he supposed he should have expected the no-nonsense tone that Tony always used.

"Fury thought you could keep me in line," Tony finally said, as they pushed closer to the Delaware border. "He told me that."

"He told me that too," Steve said, smiling at the memory of a statement that had been so much wishful thinking.

"Yeah? How's that working out for you?"

"Not as well as Fury hoped, I'm sure." After a bit of verbal sparring, Tony and Steve had gotten along well enough. He had learned that there were two ways to keep Tony in line, and neither would make him happy. Neither made _Steve_ happy. Bullying worked until Tony found a way around it, and then it blew up in the face of whoever dared attack him. Subterfuge was another, but when Tony found out—and he always did—he found a way to make _that_ poor sap's life miserable for no less than a month. Frequently longer. Barton had felt the burrs of that one incidentally. Steve never did find out what happened, but Tony had laughed, and then he had rigged Barton's practice bow to burst in a cloud of smelly ink that did not come off for days. There had been more retaliation, later, but that was definitely the most memorable.

"He said you had a real problem with authority," Steve admitted.

"Not true," Tony countered immediately. "Authority is fine. I love _being_ the authority."

"You just don't like people telling you what to do?" Steve guessed. Tony glanced at him briefly, then stared back out the windshield.

"I don't like," he said, paused, and then started again. "I don't…"

Steve could not recall the last time Tony had been caught tongue tied. From the sour look on his companion's face, he was not pleased about it. Emotions warred for dominance through his eyes, until anger finally won.

Anger was not what Steve had been going for. It was a tricky emotion, and never one that came for its own sake. Something else always, _always_ triggered anger. Usually fear or pain.

The past few months of working with Tony had taught Steve a few things. First and foremost, he should never think he could anticipate Stark's next move. The man had more than a few screws loose, and he reacted to situations in strange, sometimes alarming ways. Honestly, Steve had no idea what an angry Tony Stark was like. He had encountered the man hissing and spitting like an offended cat, but that had been when both were off balance and not altogether willing to understand each other. Hell, Steve was pretty sure Tony was still sitting back with his claws just hidden, waiting until Steve said something stupid. He just hoped that Tony did not choose this as the time to lash out.

He was—for better or worse—about to find out.

"I didn't go to normal schools, you know," he declared. "Even private schools. They tried, I caused problems, and they put me in a specialized boarding school. You know, the kind where only the ultra-rich can get in. It's how I made it to college by the time I was fourteen."

Steve watched, always fascinated by how animated Tony was. Even with both hands on the wheel, the man had an air about him that just screamed _look at me!_ _Pay attention. To me._ Steve was paying attention.

"Dad made me go," Tony said. "And I went because he _smiled_ when I agreed to do it. But I was bored at the pace, and thousand-dollar-an-hour psychiatrists thought the Stark kid was developmentally stunted, so—surprise!—play dates for a sixteen-year-old with some eighteen-year-old dumb jock son of a rising star politician."

Tony laughed, but he did not sound amused. Steve winced at the brittle edge to the sound.

"We hated each other from the start," Tony continued. "You know, he was just as big then as he is now, and I had yet to get over 5-6."

Steve had seen Tony's shoes. The man wore lifts even now. But in the mansion, when he wandered around the place barefooted, he was still quite small. Come to think on it, Tony was probably not all that much taller than Steve had been pre-serum. Three or four inches maybe. Which still put Tony Stark as a relatively short man.

"The pretense was that I would help him pass his math class. Which, as you might have figured, meant I did his homework and helped him cheat on his exams."

The words sent something strange through Steve's chest. At one point he would have felt disapproval, but he had seen Tony's reaction to Roland. Assisting the man in cheating on his exams was not something Tony would have done out of some misplaced sense of camaraderie.

"I should have told the bastard no, right?" Tony asked. Steve did not say anything. He had since learned it was better to reserve judgment with this man. Whenever Stark was involved, there were usually seven different sides to a story.

Besides. It was at about that moment that something loud occurred a very short distance from them, and smoke suddenly billowed out from beneath the hood of the car. Steve grabbed at the door when the vehicle swerved, tires screeching against pavement, and suddenly they were stopped at the side of the road. Alarmed, but realizing Tony had been in complete control of the car the entire time, Steve glanced over at the billionaire.

Tony was still, a dark shadow hunched over the steering wheel. His shoulders shook, and—oh god—was he crying?

There was no relief to be had when there were no tears. Because Tony was laughing, and Steve really did not like the hysteria racing through the giggles.

"Tony."

"Oh my god, Cap," Tony groaned, then chuckled again. "Just shoot me now. Before it gets worse."

"Can you fix it?" Steve asked. It seemed a legitimate question, but Tony looked at him as if he had asked for the moon. "You fixed up my bike once."

"Cap, it's after midnight on a dark highway," Tony said frankly. "The only reason that doesn't intimidate me is because you're here."

The statement was so straightforward and utterly honest that Steve had a hard time processing it. He blinked once, felt something odd and warm tremor in his chest, and decided Tony might deal better if Steve treated it as easily as he had.

"So you can't fix the car?" he asked instead of addressing the shockingly flattering words that had just spewed from Tony's mouth.

Tony sighed.

"The suit's in the limo. I don't even have a flashlight," he said. "I'm not quite that good, Cap."

"Should we call someone?"

"Pepper might just kill me," Tony muttered. He angled a wry grin at Steve. "I'm thinking we help the local PD feel good about themselves. What do you think? Morning headlines say, _Police Rescue Iron Man and Captain America_. See page B-11 for full story."

"We could walk," Steve peered into the darkness. It looked like cornfields. "This is farmland. There should be a house somewhere close."

"Then the headline will be _Farmer Shoots Iron Man and Captain America in a Tragic Case of Mistaken Identity._"

And wasn't that just a charming notion?

"I'll take the police," Steve mumbled.

Tony chuckled and rooted around for his phone.

Steve marked this as the breaking point. The other man's movements became increasingly agitated as he searched for his cell, apparently not finding it.

"Where the hell—?" Tony dug through his own pockets, squirmed in his seat to check that he wasn't sitting on the phone, and cursed again. Steve barely refrained from yelping when Tony abruptly reached into his seat, heedless of the fact that he was pushing against intimate parts that Steve would rather he not touch.

"I'm not sitting on it either!" he protested.

"This car isn't that big!" Tony snarled. "Where the _fuck_ did it go?"

"I don't know!"

"_Look!_"

"I _am!_ Tony, relax. We'll find it."

"I'm relaxed," Tony snapped. "I'm Zen. I'm fuckin' _Buddha_. Fuck." He glared at the ceiling of the car. "_Fuck_."

The instinct was to place a calming hand on Tony's knee. It was the easiest place to reach, and there was nothing like a little human contact to ground a person.

Steve had forgotten. The distraction of the breakdown and the lost phone had made the rest of the evening slip his mind for just a bare second. Just long enough.

He had never felt another person tense up quite so suddenly. Tony went utterly rigid, his breath catching for an instant before going ragged and quick. Steve snatched his hand back. He never would have imagined such a small amount of contact would cause that kind of reaction.

"Tony," he pleaded softly. "Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't think."

By some miracle the lights on the dash still worked, and Steve could see well enough to know that Tony had not moved. His head was back, his eyes open and staring blindly out into the dark. His hands were still somehow anchored to the steering wheel, for all the good it did him. But there was something eerie about his silence, because Tony Stark was never silent. Tony silent meant he was thinking, which could never be good if he did not have his workshop in front of him as an outlet.

"Tony, talk to me," Steve urged.

"He attacked me," Tony said softly. Steve's breath caught, and suddenly he was frozen, just as cold and still as the ocean that had taken him seventy years ago. Tony was talking, and he couldn't tear his eyes away, and he really wished he could. "The house was empty, just him and me, and he… was so damn big. He just held me down on the couch, and I couldn't _breathe_. It would have hurt so much less if he would have just let me _breathe_."

Steve understood that part completely. His chest had stopped moving, and he was not sure how to kick it back into motion. To force air into his lungs, which seemed to have forgotten their function.

"Just once," Tony continued, his voice a strange, dull monotone. "It only happened once. But he never let me forget it. Never failed to remind me that he could do it again, anytime he wanted."

When Tony had come up behind him earlier that night, all barbed wire sharp points and snark with Allen, Steve never would have guessed it stemmed from something like this. He never would have looked at Tony and thought, my friend was sexually assaulted as a child.

Now he wasn't sure he would ever get it out of his head.

"Ton—"

Tony shoved the door open, stumbling across the street before Steve could get his name out. He left the door hanging, and Steve grimaced at the retching sounds that drifted back into the car.

While earlier experience told Steve to leave Tony the hell alone, concern for his physical well-being drove him out of and around the car. He had to be sure Tony was off the road, out of the way of any traffic that might, per chance, go by at this hour. He saw headlights approaching in the distance even as he crouched beside the man in the gravel—thankfully well off the road.

A little bit of coughing, and Tony seemed to be finished vomiting. There had been very little food and probably too much alcohol (and really, what had Steve been thinking letting this man drive?), so the fit did not last long. Fortunately, the sickness seemed to have knocked loose whatever fear Tony had of physical contact, and the man let Steve help him up and back to the other side of the road.

He propped Tony against the passenger side of the car, not surprised when the man curled over his knees miserably.

A sense of righteous rage had settled in his gut. It was a very good thing they were nowhere near Roland Allen, or Steve might have been tempted to do horrible things to the bastard. Shooting him in the leg was no longer enough. Steve would like to beat the man unconscious, wait for him to wake, and then do it again.

For the first time ever, Captain America wished brutal violence upon another person for no other reason than personal vengeance.

All the more reason it was such a good thing the car had broken down. Steve would never think Tony being sick was a good thing, but it kept him in the present. He forced his mind away from thoughts of Roland's filthy hands on Tony's struggling body. Tony was sick, and he needed help.

"Sorry." Steve blinked, startled both by the apology falling from Tony's lips and the fact that the man thought he needed to do it. Tony rarely apologized for anything, and it usually came off as a flippant, my-PA-made-me-say-it thing. "Just, no one…I didn't… That's the first time…"

"You never told anyone," Steve murmured, deciphering Tony's stilted attempts at explanation.

"Yeah." Tony gave another of those unhappy little chuckles. Steve was really beginning to not like that laugh. "Who would I tell? It would be tabloid fodder in under a week."

"What about Howard?"

"Dad? Are you joking?"

"I wasn't," Steve murmured uneasily, but he let it slide when Tony did not respond. Clearly the Howard Stark Steve had known and the one Tony had known were two very different men. "I'm sorry."

There was a warm pressure against his shoulder, and Steve shifted without thinking, bringing his arm up and around Tony's back. The other man made a low noise which might have been one of protest, but he did not tense up, so Steve just tugged him closer to his side. There was gravel digging into his butt, and the car was hard at his back, but Tony was breathing more easily than he had been since they first reached their table and he saw the names on the place settings.

"Does Senator Allen know?" Because Steve was not above suggesting to Coulson that maybe a certain politician needed a little scandal in his file.

"It was no secret we hated each other," Tony murmured. "He probably just figured his son beat me up."

Hmm. Maybe he would only punch Allen the next time he saw him. Fury would be pissed, but Steve could live with that.

"You know," Tony said, in that muse-aloud way he had, when he spoke and just expected that whoever was near him was listening. "You said I would feel better, but I really just want to hit something now. Seriously. If I was Banner, I would be running rampant and green through the countryside."

"I guess it's a good thing you're not Dr. Banner."

Tony laughed again, and this time it was not such a cringe-worthy sound. It was filled with bone-weary exhaustion, but it was far better than before. Steve kind of wanted to hear it again.

"You know, you do have a light source built in, if you really wanted to fix this car," he said, gambling on Tony's thick skin to accept the joke. He was not sure it worked. The silence that followed the remark was a little long, a little heavy, and he glanced over to see Tony staring at him. The light from the headlights of the car was not quite enough, and all he could tell was that Tony was, in fact, looking directly at him.

"You…" Tony started. "Want me to take off my shirt and use the arc reactor as a flashlight."

"It could work," Steve murmured, a bit helplessly now.

Tony burst into a fit of giggling. Steve sighed, relief flooding in at the sheer amusement rolling out of this man in waves.

"That… That's… Cap, you're something else," Tony managed between giggles. He swiped at his eyes, still chuckling and shaking his head. "Augh, you made me cry. Captain America made me cry!"

"No one saw," Steve said, smiling warmly now. "Maybe we should look for that phone now."

And, because timing was everything this evening, a pair of headlights suddenly lit up the space from behind their broken down car. Just as Tony was tensing up, and they both looked up, blue and red flashed, and there was the ear-splitting _whup-whoop_ of a siren.

"Ah, the boys in blue," Tony remarked. "I bet _they'll_ have a flashlight."

Steve snorted, and there was no stopping the laughter then. He and Tony fell against each other, laughing uncontrollably, and if it was a little hysterical, well they had had a long night.

The police officer was not as amused as they were. He asked them if they had been drinking, and then asked Tony to walk a straight line. By the time Tony proved himself sober enough to pass the test, the officer's partner was back with their IDs and looking completely horrified.

"Jesus Christ, Matt." The man tried to keep his voice down, but Steve could hear him easily. Tony probably could too. "You just made Tony Stark walk a line."

"Are you fuckin' kiddin me?"

"The other guy is Captain Steve Rogers. Man, that's Captain America."

"…Fuck."

It should not have been so funny, but Steve could hear Tony snickering, and it was just so hard to keep from grinning like an idiot. Fortunately, Tony had an excellent PR face, and he chided the officers until they were all laughing about the ridiculousness of the situation. After he finally dug his phone out from under the passenger seat, Tony led them all to the police cruiser, where he allowed Steve to push him into the back seat without too many complaints.

An hour later found them waiting at a small-town sheriff's department. Tony found the break room, complete with a sink, vending machines and coffee maker. Steve bought a bottle of apple juice from the machine and watched with a severe eye while Tony drank it.

"Mother hen," Tony griped.

"It's better than coffee."

"I'm having that too."

"When did you last sleep?"

"Hardly the point. Do you suppose it's asking too much that these people have a helipad?"

It was. Fortunately, there was an old air strip the local crop dusters used about twelve miles north. Tony spent a good fifteen minutes fending off Pepper's angry concern and arranging for his helicopter to come pick them up. Steve watched him, amused at the broad gesturing and pained pleading of the genius billionaire. No matter what, Tony was always Tony.

Somewhere around four in the morning, they were in the air, heading back to New York. Steve glanced over at his companion, not surprised that Tony had—despite the terrible racket of the helicopter—fallen asleep. He slumped against the harness seatbelt, a position that looked uncomfortable, but Steve let him be. Tony, he had discovered, would sleep anywhere when his body finally gave in and forced it upon him. It was better not to disturb him.

"Hey, Cap?"

The man must have had some bizarre internal alarm, because he woke just moments before they started their descent. Although _awake_ might be pushing it as a general description. Tony looked like a zombie.

"Yeah?"

"You won't…"

It was strange seeing Tony so unsure of himself. _Fake it 'til you make it_. Tony had said that once, and Steve thought it was something of a life motto. He strutted about, on top of the world, and hoped no one saw through the chinks in his armor.

Well, Steve was not going to strike at those faults now.

"I won't," he said, looking away so he could pretend not to have seen that relieved look. "But for future reference, Tony. If I ever see that man, I cannot guarantee that I won't break his jaw."

The genuine laughter that followed Steve's heartfelt declaration was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard.

* * *

So yes. I went there. But it was a happy ending, yes? I never could go all angst and no cheer.


End file.
